


one look, twice bold

by glitteration



Series: everybody knows i'm a mf'ing monster [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Praise Kink, Sex Toys Under Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9130138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration
Summary: Care and Feeding of ConmenORMarcus and Bellamy fuck in the office bathroom.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChancellorGriffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChancellorGriffin/gifts).



> So, okay! This is part of a larger White Collar AU on my list of unfinished projects, and if you haven't seen that show here's what you need to know:
> 
> Marcus is a high level FBI Agent, working in the (you guessed it!) White Collar Crimes unit. Bellamy was one of his cases, Marcus chased him for years before finally putting him behind bars, and through a series of misadventures Bellamy ended up on a work-release program as Marcus' criminal informant.
> 
> Part of a larger threesome with Abby, because duh.

The first hint comes in the daily briefing. Bellamy leans back in his chair like usual, slouching into the back and doing his best to test how close to the line he can stride before Marcus kicks his leg under the table and forces him back into something resembling an upright posture. 

For all his affected sprawl is there, something is off. He draws Marcus' eye, Indra's voice fading to a drone as he runs down the list of things he knows about Bellamy's habits, only putting it together when Bellamy catches him staring and shifts in his chair, deliberately, then winks.

Bellamy Blake is a lot of things, but Marcus has never seen him as fidgeter. He's more likely to go deathly still than he is to plunk his ass in a chair and wiggle around like a five year old, calling attention to himself even in the most subtle ways. He's too good for that. Too _practiced_. When you notice him, it's because he wants you to.

It takes half the meeting for the other shoe to drop. Bellamy's flexing his hand around his coffee cup, a slow two-two-one-two-two-three he's only ever seen in—

 _Fuck_. In bed, when Bellamy's up in his own head and trying to talk himself down from coming. God knows what the hell it means or where he picked it up, but Marcus didn't spend the last six years of his life either chasing the man or working beside him to miss his tells.

That answers the what, but not the why. Knowing Bellamy's trying to talk himself down from coming in his pants in the middle of the morning meeting of all places makes the front of his own slacks tighten, cock thickening at the same time he wants to grab Bellamy by the collar and haul him outside to ask him what the hell kind of game he's playing at.

The rest of the briefing passes in a haze of half-digested syllables, all his attention on Bellamy's constant, minute adjustments. He's performing it now that he can tell he has Marcus' attention, toying with the hem of his jacket and smoothing the perfectly creased lines of his shirt, and Marcus snorts quietly.

"Agent Kane, did you have something to add?" Indra's mouth is tight.

"No, ma'am. Just a dry throat." 

She gazes at his coffee cup, pointedly, not continuing until he takes a sip. "If you don't mind..."

The force of her glare is enough to make embarrassing himself less an issue, at least. Shaking his head silently, Marcus makes a point of taking another long sip, only setting the cup down once she's speaking again. Her words don't penetrate the fog in his brain any more than they did earlier, but if she knows it there's no indication.

The rest of the office files out double time once she's through, eager to abandon Bellamy and Marcus to Indra's legendary temper. Marcus stays put, waiting for the hammer to come down.

Indra leaves them hanging for a few torturous moments before shutting her laptop with a decisive snap. "Agent Kane. Mr. Blake." She looks pointedly between the chair where Bellamy's still stuck fast and his own frozen perch. "Unless you have something you need to discuss, the meeting is over. If you had been listening, you might have already realized that."

"Ma'am." It's amazing how Indra can bring him right back to the academy, green and knock-kneed and entirely out of his depth. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't."

Bellamy doesn't take a breath until the door swishes shut behind her, declarative even in its silence. "She's terrifying."

"She's an incredible agent, and a good boss." He's not _wrong_ , but Marcus feels compelled to defend her regardless.

"I notice you didn't say she's not terrifying."

Laughing, he gives in. "That's because she is." The moment of levity doesn't lift the tension, and Marcus stands, curiosity removed. "All right, come on. Let's go."

"Where are we going?" For once Bellamy follows the order even as he questions it, following him to the door. He'd look collected to anyone who doesn't know him, but there's a red tinge to the skin on top of his ears, and he's walking with a studied carefulness that sits wrong on a man so confident in his own body and its limits.

"Bathroom. Let's go."

Harper shoots Bellamy a sympathetic look from her desk as they pass; Miller flashes him a sarcastic thumbs up from under his paperwork, where he thinks Marcus can't see it. Monroe is her usual stoic self, but he thinks he can see a commiserating downturn at the corner of her mouth she's doing a good job at trying to hide. They think he's being hauled off for a dressing down, away from offices with glass walls and prying eyes. Bellamy's charmed them, too, worked his way into the team's core and made a home for himself with each of them. 

"I saw that, Miller." He waits to respond until they're a few feet beyond their makeshift team bullpen, not bothering to turn back. "Harper, don't encourage him. Monroe... Miller can take your spot on van duty."

" _Hey_!"

Hustling Bellamy forward, Marcus hides a smile. It's good to keep them on their toes, and Miller's up tomorrow. Moving him forward a day to reinforce the idea that Bellamy's pissed him off easily buys them another ten minutes alone. 

He shuts the bathroom door behind them a little louder than necessary, turning the lock against anyone impatient enough to try and get between Agent Kane and his CI after a botched briefing. 

"All right, what did you do?"

Bellamy licks his lips, tongue a wet flash of pink. "She told me when you asked that, I should show you."

 _She_. Marcus mouths the word, mouth opening to ask the obvious next question before going slack, when Bellamy turns his back and makes quick work of his belt and pants before shoving them and his boxers down to his knees, bracing himself against one of the sinks and spreading his legs, pelvis tipped back to display his ass.

Marcus' mouth goes dry. Not his ass, but the dark shadow between his cheeks and the subtle sheen of plastic reflected under the cheap fluorescent light they won't upgrade. He staggers forward, plastering himself along the line of Bellamy's body and wrapping one arm securely around his waist.

"It was Abby's idea." Marcus groans, deep in his chest and drops his forehead onto Bellamy's shoulder, trying not to picture it. "She helped me put it in while you showered."

" _Fuck_." Not picturing it is a dim, faded hope; now it's all he can think about, Bellamy leaned over the bed or up against the dresser, hobbled by the fabric around his legs while Abby works him open with delicate fingers, just feet away from him as he got ready for the day. Then he thinks about Abby's goodbye, the extra-cheery greeting he'd chalked up to an aftereffect of Bellamy's flirting taking on a new cast. "I should have known."

"Mmm?"

 _Have an absolutely wonderful day, hon._ It had been there all along, hidden behind Abby's smile and his failure to anticipate exactly the range of mischief she can get up to now that it's two on one. "She chirped. My wife doesn't chirp." He fingers one of Bellamy's curls, tilting his head to the side to study him. "Except when she's conspiring with you, apparently. I'm going to have to keep my eye on that."

"Marcus..."

"Shh." Taking slow, measured breaths, Marcus kisses the fabric under his lips, tasting fabric softener and sweat and _Bellamy_. "Let me think." 

They only have so long before someone who missed their staged exit tries to use the bathroom, and the sooner they leave the better it is for keeping up the agonizing but unavoidable fiction that Bellamy's only role in their lives is as Marcus' CI and Abby's friend. 

With that in mind, Marcus raises his head to whisper in Bellamy's ear, rubbing his beard purposefully against tender skin. "Did you get yourself wet for me, sweetheart?" He whimpers, body going taut like a bowstring, and Marcus covers his mouth loosely with his palm. "Shhh, it's all right. We don't want the rest of the office knowing how much you needed this, do we?" Bellamy shakes his head, responding more to the tone of voice than Marcus' question, pupils blown when Marcus looks in the mirror to monitor his reaction. "That you spread your legs and let my wife put this inside you." He taps one knuckle against the base of the plug, holding Bellamy up when his knees buckle. "So good for us, aren't you?"

"Aymuh." Bellamy's trying to say something behind his palm and Marcus removes it, stroking his cheek gently. "I am. I'm trying to be." He turns his head, mouthing a clumsy kiss on his fingertips. "Please, Marcus, fuck me. I'm trying to be good for you."

"You are." Life with Abby in it is a more optimistic life than the one he'd led alone, but he's no less a realist. Bellamy still wants what he'd had before he got caught. He probably _still_ breaks laws, and he's definitely enabled that smartass friend of his to do God only knows what, trusting that what Marcus doesn't know about can't ruin his career. Someday, all that's going to come to a head and they'll find out which he wants more: the life he's building with them, or the life he'd had before. 

Those are thoughts better left to late nights and a couple beers, not now. Not when he knows that for all Bellamy lies like he breathes, there's nothing counterfeit here. He wants them. Wants _him_ , with a sharp edged desperation even Marcus can see. It sinks into his guts, messy and possessive and threaded through with the kind of intensity that had frightened him before Abby taught him what it meant.

"I'll tell you what, here's the deal. If you think you can keep yourself from coming, I'll fuck you. If you're too on edge for that, I'll blow you now and fuck you when we get home." 

Bellamy's hips thrust forward, violent and entirely unpracticed. Why he'd be that excited about _not_ getting off had been a mystery when he first asked for it; if it's what he likes it's what he likes and it doesn't matter that Marcus would rather just make him come twice, but trying to wrap his head around why _Bellamy_ liked it felt like a case with half the background detail left on the floor. 

It had been Abby who explained it. _Bellamy likes to feel like he's meeting a challenge you've set. He wants you to be impressed with him, Marcus. All those cards while you were chasing him, the letters from prison... he always has. And beyond that, some of us like to practice a little delayed gratification._

"Well? There are two options on the table, Bellamy. Take your pick."

"I want you to fuck me." He stumbles over the words, and Marcus thrills at the glimpse into a Bellamy Blake who isn't guarding his reactions and curating each one before allowing anyone else to see them. "Please, Marcus, that's what I want. Fuck me, I want—"

"Shh, shh." His zipper sounds loud in the quiet, and Bellamy inhales sharply, watching his reflection take his cock out of his boxers without removing them, leaving him still fully clothed and standing over Bellamy's half-clothed body. Glancing at the clock above the door, Marcus heaves a silent sigh of acceptance before reaching familiarly between Bellamy's thighs, taking hold of the plug and examining it before he wraps it in a paper towel and sets it in one of the other sinks. Abby's handiwork is obvious; it was small enough to be worn this long without discomfort, but more than large enough to leave Bellamy ready for his cock now. Clucking in sympathy, Marcus teases at the edge of his hole with a thumb, petting the soft skin behind his balls with slow, gentle strokes. "She didn't take it easy on you, did she? Already so open. Ready for it."

Bellamy whines high in his chest like a hurt animal, scrabbling with urgent fingers at his arm. 

All it takes is one slow push and he's fully seated, hipbones nestled up against the curve of Bellamy's ass. They both have to stifle cries then, breathing in heavy quick pants that echo off the tile. 

If they were at home he could take his time with Bellamy. He's spent hours learning the best ways to take him apart until he's unable to do anything but react. Here, with a clock ticking and coworkers just outside the door, time is the last thing they have. 

"What else did my wife tell you?" Abby has a way with Bellamy. He catches Bellamy watching her in quiet moments, eyes soft and just a little wide, like he's taking in a miracle and wants to be sure to commit it to memory. Whatever she'd done to sell him on the idea, the memory should be enough to help speed things along.

Bellamy's body stiffens, breathing going shallow. "She said—"

When he doesn't continue Marcus withdraws, keeping just the head of his cock inside Bellamy's body. "She said...?"

"Are you— _fuck_ , Marcus, come back."

"Tell me what she said, Bellamy."

"She told me I was going to be everything you wanted, that you'd get off for years on me being ready for you at work— _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Marcus, more."

His hips meet Bellamy's ass with a loud crack, echoing off the walls like a gunshot. "What else, Bellamy? What else did she tell you?"

Knowing Abby, she would have expected this too. She's right, taking Bellamy while the whole office carries on outside, in the office that gave him Bellamy in the first place... it's heady, and entirely inappropriate and he revels in it, driving into Bellamy in steady, punishing thrusts.

"That I was soft inside, and w-wet," he stumbles over the word, swallowing air as Marcus murmurs agreement and sucks a bruise into his neck, soaking the shirt enough he'll need to wear his jacket until it dries. "And—"

"And?"

"And pretty." 

Marcus can see the red on the back of his neck deepen, and he hums in agreement. "She's right, you are. Pink and pretty, and so good for us."

Bellamy clenches down like a vise, curls brushing the faucet as his head drops between his shoulders, hips working back against Marcus' with clumsy force. That lack of his usual control more than anything else propels him onwards, fucking into Bellamy in clumsy thrusts of his own until he's slumped over Bellamy's back, cock softening inside him, sink creaking as it bears both their weight.

With a little sigh of regret Marcus pulls away, pulling down a fistful of paper towels to clean himself up and zipping back up before offering another wad to Bellamy, who waves him off. 

"Trust me, you don't—"

Bellamy gestures to the plug, eyes still hazy with pleasure. "She said to put it back in. That it would keep me ready for her."

" _Fuck_."

"I think that's the idea." The haze is mostly gone now, and some of the steel reenters Bellamy's spine, even as he stays prone against the sink. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How did you figure it out?"

There's no need to ask what it means. Bellamy's a conman, and he wants to know his tell. Marcus shrugs, smiling. "Your hands."

Bellamy blinks, off guard. "My hands?"

"When we're in bed and you're trying not to come, you move your hands." He closes his hand over Bellamy's fingers, caressing the little scar on one knuckle and then imitating the motion. "You were doing that to your coffee cup. That's how I knew."

He looks discomforted, but rallies with a smile, burying that initial reaction deep. "We thought it would take you a little less time to figure it out."

"Forgive me for not considering my wife and my CI were going to do their best to drive me crazy today." It's not worth pursuing the flash of pain, not when there's nothing to be gained from it and plenty to be lost. 

Bellamy looks absurdly pleased at his summation of the situation, looking up at him from under his lashes in a way that's practiced enough to irritate at the same time it's effective enough to hit the mark. "Did it work?"

Marcus shakes his head, pulling Bellamy up and gathering him in with a hand on the nape of his neck, angling for a kiss. They've tempted fate long enough so he keeps it short, but he keeps his hand where it is. "You know it did." Releasing him, Marcus crosses to the sink and stares at himself in the mirror, looking for any obvious signs they've just broken everything from laws to agency statutes to the unwritten code that oversees office life. His hands tighten on the porcelain when Bellamy slips the the plug back in, making the same kind of sounds he does when they're in bed together, little involuntary grunts that are too undignified to be part of the act he likes to put on. If he looks at him that's it, that's the whole damn ballgame, and he stares at his own reflection with singleminded focus. 

The sound of Bellamy's zipper is permission to turn around and take him in again. "They'll think I brought you in here to bust you down for screwing around in the meeting out of the fishbowl. Stay here for a little bit, take some time to calm down." Bellamy's hair is a mess, face flushed, his cock is still clearly outlined against his pantleg and Marcus makes himself ignore that, too, because taking him home and just fucking him now isn't on the agenda for the day. "Try to at least look sorry when you head back to your desk."

"I'll be entirely contrite."

"Don't strain yourself. I'd like them to _believe_ it."

Laughing, Bellamy raises his hand in solemn promise. "Scout's honor, just the right amount of chagrin."

"Yeah, I'd feel better about that if I thought there was a chance in hell you really were a fellow Boy Scout."

"...you _weren't_."

"Oh, I was. An Eagle Scout. Looked great on my college applications."

That sets Bellamy off like he hoped it would, arousal slowly dissipating in favor of mocking Marcus' less than checkered past. "An Eagle Scout. Raven's going to love that."

"I'm sure she will." With one last look in the mirror Marcus sighs and heads for the door, stopping just short of opening it. "When I said wait until tonight, I meant everything. I don't want to see you heading in here by yourself to see how far you can inch up to the line without crossing it, hear me? That's for for me, and it's for Abby. You can wait an afternoon."

He shuts the door on Bellamy's groan.


End file.
